A friend of mine told me that his 99 year old Grandfather had just died, and that his wife who is also 99 years old is still living. She wondered how long the wife was going to live now that the husband is gone. “I’m sure it’s not the same for you, but you hear all the time with the elderly how quickly other one dies after the death of their…
Miscellaneous
Dreaming ….
…. would be a much better thing if we could control it, wouldn’t it? ….. or would it? I’d love going to sleep each night if I knew that I could dream of Jim. I would choose to dream about him as much as possible.Good dreams. Dreams in which he’d be alive. Dreams in which our lives had never been altered …. or rather, ripped to shreds. But…
Mother’s Day Memories
Our guest blogger today is Jo Rozier who lost his wife Deltha to a brain aneurysm on 3/16/2006. Jo is the single father of two teens, a founding member of our Widower Match program, and as he says, “a fellow traveler” on this road called widowhood. Thanks for sharing Jo.Dear Kids,Mother’s Day, our fourth since Mommy died.So often you share your…
Rebuilding
My family began battling cancer in 2003 when my mother-in-law was diagnosed with colon cancer. Five years later my wife, who was pregnant with our third child, was diagnosed with stage three breast cancer. Despite a valiant fight, cancer claimed the life of mother-in-law on April 18th and of my wife on July 23rd. I am now raising three girls all…
Our Fairy Tale
I try not to think too much on all the things we would have done, family we would have built and life together we would have lived. I try not to imagine it too much, for there is a pain associated with the what-ifs and that which we were unable to fulfill as the soul mates we are. We lived our fairy tale. Our own Disney movie.Like a knight on a…
Music Was Our Refuge
The epitaph on Chris’s grave marker says, “Music Was My Refuge.” It is a most appropriate way to remember a man who was a church choir director, a pianist and an organist, a community theater actor, a Norwegian Folk dancer, and a longtime patron of the opera and symphony. In the months after Chris died, I started planning a concert in his…
A Wary Merry Christmas
I spent last December 22nd in the emergency room, which isn’t necessarily an unusual place for an extremely pregnant woman to be. Unfortunately, I wasn’t there to deliver a bundle of joy but rather to find the source of the unrelenting headache that had kept Chris in bed for almost two days.Within an hour of arriving at the ER, my world started…
I Believe in Fairy Tales
Michael’s my prince charming. He saved me from the poisoned apple, kissed me out of an eternal sleep, slayed the dragon, and swept me up into his safe arms. And as soon as I was swept up, I felt like he was pulled away from me.But, I still believe in fairy tales. It has been through my fellow widows; their stories, pictures, memories and…
The View from my Mind
Well it was Thanksgiving number 5 without Daniel. I’ve said it before, but really, it is just hard to believe. It seems like he was just here. This was the first one that wasn’t quite so difficult to bear. Grayson and I usually go to the coast with my family and spend a couple of days fishing, collecting sea shells, feeding the sea gulls (like this…
When there are no thanks to be given
As any of us widows and widowers know, one of the most trying times of the Annual Widowed Calendar is upon us. It’s impossible to turn on the TV or walk into any store without having it crammed down our gagging, grieving throats: The holidays. That formerly joyous, happy, oblivious time of year where we got to focus on fun, holiday frivolity;…
My Other Car is a Porsche
You know those bumper stickers that say things like, “My Other Car is a Porsche?” The implication is that the driver isn’t quite satisfied with their real car and that they have a much nicer one parked at home. I can appreciate this sentiment.My “other car” is my other life—the one I was supposed to be living right now complete with a…
When Is He Coming Home?
I want to write away the pain. Sometimes I think that’s why I write. I know that’s why I talk to people, why I spend the energy to explain to them what this process is like. The more I talk the more distance I have from the process. The more distance I have from the process the less like mine it feels. Or the more sense I can try to make of…